


They Were Out of Pie

by frecklesarechocolate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Coda for 8.22, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/frecklesarechocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda for 8.22. This is my fourth attempt to write a coda for the episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Were Out of Pie

 

When Dean gets back to his room, there’s a plastic bag on his bed. It contains a six pack of beer (one bottle is missing), some beef jerky, two copies of _Busty Asian Beauties_ , a pack of toilet paper and a note.

All the note says is, “They were out of pie,” and there’s a dash and the letter C. Dean flips the note over for additional information, but there is none. He crumples it up and starts to toss the note toward the trash can, but he thinks better of it and unfolds the note carefully. He tucks it into his wallet and takes the beer and jerky into the kitchen. 

Cas is in his room when he returns, sitting on the bed. On the bedside table are two plates, each with a slice of pie and a fork. One plate looks like it’s blueberry pie and the other one is apple.

“Cas, what the hell…”

“I’m sorry, Dean, I meant to be back sooner, but pie has proven to be difficult to be found around here.” Cas stands up and gestures to the plates. “Take your pick.”

“Cas? This is…. this is really weird.”

Cas shrugs and waits expectantly. Realizing that Cas isn’t going to say anything else until Dean picks a slice, he grabs the blueberry. The pie is still warm, but not so hot that he would burn his mouth. The crust is buttery and flaky, and it’s the best slice of pie Dean has had in a long time.

Dammit. 

He tries not to moan in pleasure at the taste. He eats one more bite and puts the pie back on the bedside table. He folds his arms over his chest. “Don’t think that I’m going to stop being mad at you just because you bring me pie.”

Cas smiles. “I didn’t think you would.”

“So, what then?”

Cas just gives him a look, the one that says, ‘Dean, I know you’re a human, and that I’ve lived so much longer than you have, but could you, I don’t know, try to be a little less irritatingly  _human_?’

“I don’t know why you’re so angry, Dean,” Cas says eventually. He settles in the chair beside the bed, and Dean plops down on the bed. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

“You keep fucking off, that’s why,” Dean says, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s really tired, and he’s not sure he actually is ready to have this conversation, but Cas  _did_ bring him pie, after all. Seems that he’s  _trying._

“I told you, I was trying to —”

“Yeah, Cas, I know, you were trying to help, to fix things. We’ve been down this road before man, and the scenery ain’t changing. You should have trusted me.”

Cas looks down at his hands, which seem to have sprung a life of their own, fingers twisting together as he listens to Dean. “I do trust you, Dean.”

“Uh huh. Which is why you decided to go off with the angel tablet all on your own. And look where that got you.” Dean waves his arm at Cas. “If you’d just… listened to me, goddamn it, things might have turned out differently.”

“You don’t know —”

Dean stands up abruptly, effectively interrupting Cas. He strides back and forth across the small room. He’s like a caged tiger, and the room is really too small to hold him now, to hold his anger. “I do know, Cas. I know that when people don’t fucking trust each other that things go wrong. I know that when we do things together, we’re better, we’re stronger, we’re smarter.” He stops in front of Cas and grips the armrests of the chair, lowering himself down until he’s a eye level with the angel.

“I also know that I said that I needed you, and  _you fucking left._ ” It’s deep and dark, and there’s so much pain behind the words that Cas winces.

Dean stays hunched over Cas for a long moment as silence falls over them like a thick blanket. Then he pushes away and goes to stand across the room. He’s a bundle of nervous energy, unable to really keep still, like _he’s_ the one that wants to fly the coop.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“What? What’d you say?” Dean asks, and it comes out much more aggressively than he’d planned.

“You ‘need’ me.” And Cas makes quote signs with his fingers. “I don’t know what that means. You also said you didn’t need my help.”

“Cas,” Dean says. He inhales slowly, closing his eyes. “I didn’t say I needed you because I needed your help. I don’t need your help. _We_ don’t.” Dean scrubs his face, because he’s never willingly had this kind of conversation with anyone. 

“Then what did you mean?” Cas looks genuinely confused, his brow scrunching downward. 

Dean slumps on the bed, his back away from Cas. He’s got his head in his hands now, and he mumbles something, hoping that maybe Cas will let it go, but of course he won’t, because it’s Cas, and Cas doesn’t let stuff go. Not the important stuff.

And that’s the thing. This is the important stuff.

“Dean?” Cas asks, although Dean thinks that Cas knows damn well what he said, he is a ‘celestial being’ after all.

Dean lifts his head up. “I need _you_ , you little shit. You. Here, with _me_. Okay?” 

“Oh,” Cas says, and that’s it, that’s all he says. Dean still has his back to Cas, he’s still staring at the wall where his weapons are hanging. He’s doing his level best not to turn around because he really, really doesn’t want to see the look on Cas’s face.

Except that, of course, he does. But he steadfastly refuses to look around. Not when he hears the scrape of the chair against the linoleum, not when he senses that Cas has come to stand next to him, and not when he feels Cas’s hand come to rest on his shoulder.

“Dean? Do you want to turn around?” Cas asks, and his voice is impossibly soft. Cas squeezes Dean’s shoulder lightly.

“No.”

“Why not?” Cas asks, and the hand shifts closer to where Dean’s neck and shoulder meet, sliding slowly. Dean doesn’t respond, and Cas’s hand finally reaches Dean’s neck. Cas’s thumb rubs against the bottom of Dean’s jaw, and he tilts Dean’s head up. Cas is looking down at Dean, eyes wide, and he’s just staring, still rubbing the bottom of Dean’s jaw, and it’s like he’s waiting for something.

“Cas,” Dean says, and he’s a bit surprised at how hoarse his voice is. 

Cas quirks up an eyebrow and almost faster than Dean can really see, sits in Dean’s lap. His eyes flick up and down between Dean’s mouth and his eyes, and then he leans down and kisses Dean. 

It’s awkward, their noses are in the way, and it’s entirely too brief, in Dean’s opinion. Cas pulls away, but Dean won’t let him go. He grabs Cas’s tie and pulls him down for a real kiss, eyes closed, hand curled around the tie, lips pressed together, just slightly open. Cas makes a soft noise of surprise, and then wraps his other arm around Dean and pulls him close. They sink into each other, the kiss long and sweet.

They only pull apart when Dean’s need for air becomes apparent, and Cas rests his forehead against Dean’s. Dean is still holding onto Cas’s tie, and he wraps it once more around his hand as if to tether Cas to him. They’re both breathing a little heavily, and their chests bump into each other when they inhale.

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean’s eyes flutter closed, because he won’t hear what’s in Cas’s voice, he refuses to.

“No, Cas. Don’t. Don’t you leave me.”

Cas kisses Dean again, chasing Dean’s lips with his own as Dean tries to move away. “I always come back to you, Dean.”

“You wouldn’t have to if you’d just stay in the first place, Cas.” Dean realizes that he sounds needy, that he sounds whipped, and right now, with Cas’s mouth on his own, he’s discovered that he’s kind of okay with that. Well, a little, anyway.

“Dean, I can’t promise —” Cas stops himself with a soft moan, as Dean mouths at his jaw. _Gotcha_ , Dean thinks, and he redirects his attention to the sensitive spot. Dean’s enjoying cataloging the sounds Cas makes as they make out, the quiet moans, the panting, the hitches in his breath. Dean files it all away, because he has _plans_ for this information. He’s so focused on listening, on _hearing_ Cas, that he’s surprised when Cas shifts and pushes Dean down on the bed, his knees straddling Dean’s hips. 

“Jeeze, Cas!” Dean says, but he’s laughing, genuinely laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners, and when Cas places his palms beside Dean’s head and presses down against Dean, he feels like he could burst with the feeling. 

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” Dean says when Cas lets him come up for air. 

Cas smirks. “Obviously.”

“You have a lot to make up for.” Dean runs his hands down Cas’s back and upper thighs and rucks up the trench coat, because he _can_. This is a thing he can do now. He cups Cas’s ass and squeezes.

“I’m sure you have thoughts on that,” Cas says, and it’s a little breathless, a little on the wrong side of controlled. 

Dean grins. “I have a few thoughts, yes.”

Cas sucks Dean’s earlobe into his mouth and says, “Do feel free to share.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted at my [Tumblr](http://deanhugchester.tumblr.com) and LiveJournal.


End file.
